


Hood Life

by TerrusDacktellus



Category: Arrow (TV 2012)
Genre: Angst, Birthdays, Drabble, F/M, Felicity whump, Fluff, Male/Female Friendship, Minor Character Death, Oliver sucks at comforting people, Over protective Oliver, Pre-Relationship, Team Arrow, UST, generous Oliver, olicity hurt/comfort, tommy Merlyn feels
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-08-08
Updated: 2014-02-01
Packaged: 2017-12-22 20:12:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 11,630
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/917563
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TerrusDacktellus/pseuds/TerrusDacktellus
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Having been sucked into Oliver Queen's weird double life, Felicity begins to get glimpses into the character of the man under the hood. A series of moments from the Arrow Cave.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Thank You

**Author's Note:**

> This is the first of a few drabbles that popped into my head. I'll keep posting them as I think of them.

_"I need that name, Felicity!"_

Oliver paced up and down the lair behind her, crackling with nervous energy and Felicity hunched her shoulders in irritation. Demanding, impatient, cute and occasionally vicious. It was like working with a cat. A really big cat, she amended as he loomed behind her, planting his hands on the desk and caging her in.

"Doing my best, Oliver," she said with a brittle smile. She adjusted her glasses automatically as she focused on the screen. Her eyes were smarting from staring at the tiny text for so long and there was a knot the size of a fist between her shoulder blades. An Oliver sized fist. She'd been at this for three hours, trawling through pages and pages of data from LexCorp, trying to find the name of a man who'd been using company money to fund a gang war on the streets of Starling City. She scrolled on, hunting for some tiny anomaly in the finances and wishing that Oliver would stop breathing down her neck. 

He growled in frustration and turned back to his practice dummy which was a good thing because he missed Felicity's eye roll. Seriously, who actually made growling noises? She ploughed on through the files and the sting in her eyes was closer to a burn when she finally saw it. Money invested in a company under the Queen Consolidated banner, a company which ceased to exist two months before the first payment was made. She checked and triple checked - she didn't want some poor sap getting a taste of Oliver's justice for a small typo - but got the same result each time. 

"I got it," she breathed, far too tired for her usual enthusiastic celebration. "Go me." Oliver was at her side in a heartbeat, hovering impatiently. 

"Well?" he asked sharply. 

"James Cartelli," she said wearily. "And here's the address." Oliver nodded and headed for the stairs. She watched him go with a certain amount of bitterness. Never mind that she had spent the entire night searching for this guy and had a mere three hours to get home and get some sleep before she had to get up for work in the morning. Oliver had important super hero things to do and then he could sleep in to his heart's content. 

"Thank you, Felicity," she mumbled in a gruff parody of Oliver's deep voice. "It's really no problem," she answered herself. "I like working down here in the dark until all hours, having no social life and never getting enough sleep. Really, it's fun." She let her head fall onto her folded arms and contemplated just sleeping there. She really was so, so tired. So tired in fact that she didn't hear the soft footsteps behind her and started violently when a heavy hand grasped her shoulder. She looked up blearily into Oliver's face. He was standing over her with a smile. 

"Thank you, Felicity," he said gravely and leaned forward to speak right in her ear. "Sorry I pushed you so hard," he murmured and then kissed her on the cheek. The touch was light but his lips lingered for a split second longer than was really appropriate. Felicity stared up at him dumbly and raised a hand to her face in astonishment.

"Now for God's sake, go home and go to bed," he commanded, but he smiled as he said it and there was no sting in the words. He turned away again and jogged back up the stairs, leaving Felicity still sitting stupefied in front of the computer. Despite his order, she stayed there for a good half hour, running the tips of her fingers over her cheek. The skin still tingled where he'd kissed it.


	2. It's Not You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Felicity has a rough break up and Oliver is bad at comforting people. Set five months after season one.

_Felicity:_

Felicity kept her head eyes fixed on the screen and sniffled as quietly as she could. Maybe, if she was lucky, she would get through the night without Oliver or Digg noticing that - 

"Hey, are you okay?" Damn, damn, damn. She was surprised Oliver had been the one to pick up on how upset she was. She would have expected Digg to be the observant one there. She wiped her eyes as discretely as she could and tried to keep her voice from wobbling.

"Oh, sure, I'm just fine. Practically peachy. Nothing bothering me. I couldn't be happier." Her voice betrayed her and cracked on the last word and she cursed herself. She so did not want to have this conversation with either of these guys. In her experience - well, as far pop culture went anyway - soldiers weren't the most sympathetic of people and Oliver and Digg might be secret soldiers but they were still definitely soldiers and she did not want to be told to just suck it up, thank you very much, not after her heart had just been ripped out and shredded -

"What makes you think I wouldn't be sympathetic?" Oliver sounded a little indignant and Felicity cringed as she realised she'd been talking out loud. Apparently break ups played havoc with her already faulty brain to mouth filter. "Did someone hurt you?" Oliver went on and if she'd been paying attention instead of dying of embarrassment, Felicity would have noticed that he sounded angry. 

"Yeah, you could say that," she said, refusing to break eye contact with the screen. Oliver might not be the poster child for mental health but she did not want him to see her crying and if she didn't look at him, maybe he wouldn't notice. 

"Who?" She kept staring straight ahead. "Felicity, _look at me."_ Her head turned towards him of its own volition but she couldn't bring herself to meet his eyes. His callused finger slipped under her chin and gently tipped her head back until she had nowhere to look but his face. 

"What happened?" he asked again and his voice was gentle. 

"Luke broke up with me," she whispered and he blinked. 

"Luke?" he repeated, nonplussed. "Who's Luke?" 

"My boyfriend." Her heart clenched painfully. "My ex-boyfriend now."

"I didn't know you were seeing anybody," said Oliver and the surprise in his voice was a little insulting. Just because he didn't find her attractive didn't mean no one else did. 

"Yeah, well, a lot can happen in five months," she said bitterly and Oliver winced. She still hadn't really forgiven him for running away after the Undertaking and it showed occasionally. He leaned against the desk almost gingerly and sighed. "You wanna talk about it? Getting it off your chest might help."

Felicity glared at him. "Oh, you're gonna talk to me about opening up? Fine, I'll open up. I've been seeing this guy about three months and I really liked him, okay? He was into all the same nerdy stuff that I am and I really thought that this might be the one, you know?" She paused and took a deep, shuddering breath. "But then you come breezing back into Starling City and suddenly I'm swept up in your crazy double life again and I'm working late all the time and coming up for shitty excuses for it and surprise, surprise, Luke thinks I cheated on him. With you."

Oliver stared into the distance, his jaw working like he was grinding his teeth. "So, let me call him. I'll tell him half the truth. That you're working for me at the club and that there's nothing between us."

Felicity snorted. "Like he's gonna believe Starling City's most famous playboy. Besides, having been called a 'geeky slut,' I don't really want to fix things with the guy." 

Under any other circumstances, the speed with which Oliver went from apologetic to furious would have been funny. In this case, it was almost a little scary. His eyes hardened, his nostrils flared and his mouth snapped into the tight, flat line that usually meant the Hood was about to kill someone. "What's his full name?" he asked, his voice curiously soft, like the hiss of a snake about to strike. 

"No! No, absolutely not," snapped Felicity. "I don't care how much of a dick he is, you are _not_ going to kill my ex."

"I'm not going to kill him," Oliver said coolly. "Just rough him up a little."

 _"No!"_ she repeated. "You are not going to kill or beat him up, understand?" She paused, abruptly realising that she was on her feet and waving a warning finger in Oliver's face. Judging by his expression, he didn't quite know what to make of it. She threw her hands up in disgust, grabbed her purse and stalked up the stairs. "I'm going home," she announced, keying in the door code. She paused on her way out as something occurred to her. "And no threatening to beat him up either," she ordered and left. 

* * * 

_Oliver:_

It was odd, Oliver thought as she clattered down the stairs the next evening, how he could tell from the clacking of her heels that she was angry. Digg shot him a knowing look as they paused their training. "Told you so, man," he murmured, earning himself a glare that was interrupted by an enraged Felicity storming between them. "What the hell did you do?!" she hissed. "I told you not to threaten him!"

Oliver raised his hands defensively. "You said not to threaten to hurt him. You said nothing about threatening to fire him." She blinked at him in a mixture of rage and confusion. 

"How could you possibly fire him? You don't even own SCComp!" She caught the flicker in his eyes before he could hide it and swore with a viciousness that surprised him. "Tell me you didn't buy the company just to get to him," she said softly. 

"In my defense, I was considering buying it anyway," he said and she gave him such a disgusted look that he cringed away from it unconsciously. 

"Oliver, I do not need you to fight my battles for me." Her voice was cold. "I can take care of myself, alright?" 

"What was I supposed to do?!" he exploded. "This is my fault. I dragged you into this. I messed up your life and I felt bad, okay? I just wanted to make him apologise for hurting you." She continued to regard him coolly and he sighed. "What was I supposed to do?" he repeated and she rolled her eyes. 

"Oliver, you big goof," she said quietly. The venom in her voice had abated a little and Oliver relaxed a fraction. "You don't buy a company and threaten a girl's ex to make her feel better." She shook her head and smiled faintly. 

"So, what can I do?"

"Tell me it's not me, it's him," she replied, sounding a little bit more like her usual quirky self. "Tell me he wasn't good enough for me anyway. Buy me obscene amounts of chocolate and eat ice cream with me, while I cry and watch chick flicks." She massaged her temples. "Getting angry is so tiring," she mumbled. "I'd forgotten."

"Go home, Felicity," said Oliver gently and she acquiesced with a wry, weary smile. Digg tapped him on the arm as he watched her go. "I said it was a dumb idea, Oliver," he reminded him with a grin. Oliver flicked his leg out and dumped the bigger man neatly on his ass. "Digg," he said. "How much chocolate would you consider to be obscene?"

* * * 

_Felicity:_

Felicity felt a little better when she went to work the next day. Oliver's irritating inability to resist interfering with her life aside, hearing Luke grovel so convincingly had actually gone a long way towards cheering her up and there was a certain spring in her step when she walked into the I.T. department. Her friend Grace was waiting outside her office, her eyes wide. "Are you and Luke back together?" she demanded without preamble and Felicity did a double take. "What? No, why?"

"Cause someone is trying to make something up to you," her friend replied, pointing. Felicity followed her direction and gasped. There was a three tiered tray of chocolate truffles standing on her desk. Expensive looking truffles. She walked over to check the little gold card beside the mountain of chocolate but she already instinctively knew who it was from. Sure enough, the little note read, "Suitably obscene, I hope? He wasn't good enough for you anyway. Ice cream to follow later." She read it seven times, her smile widening with each repetition and it took her far too long to realise that Grace had asked her a question. "Who's it from," she repeated and Felicity stuttered. 

"I have no idea," she lied. "Want to help me eat an obscene amount of chocolate?" 

Several hours and what felt like several pounds of ridiculously delicious chocolate later, Felicity was still smiling, a big beatific grin that stretched from ear to ear. She told herself it was the sugar buzz, but the warm feeling in her chest seemed to emanate from the pocket of her blouse where she'd tucked Oliver's note. She couldn't wait for the ice cream.


	3. Dead Man Walking

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Felicity overhears a conversation between Oliver and team Arrow's newest recruit.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a short one, set some time in the future, after season 1.

If she hadn't left her phone behind, Felicity would not have witnessed an extremely interesting conversation in the lair in the wee hours of the morning. Long after Digg had gone home, at an hour when she herself should really have known better than to be up, she crept back in as quietly as she could, intending to avoid disturbing Oliver. She was beginning to think he actually slept here.

She pushed open the door with as much stealth as her complete lack of coordination would allow and froze when she heard voices within. Roy must still be there. After he had figured out the Hood's true identity, Oliver hadn't had much choice but to bring him on board as he was understandably reluctant to kill his sister's boyfriend. Not that Felicity wasn't sure he'd have done so it if he had to, something which disturbed her a lot less than it should have. Tonight had been Roy's big night, his introduction to the team and apparently, he had yet to tear himself away.

"So, you know the hot nerd chick?" Roy began conversationally. "Do you and her have some sort of thing going on?"

Felicity blinked in dumbfounded shock as she realised that he was talking about her and then felt her cheeks begin to burn. What was it her mother used to say about the perils of eavesdropping and hearing about yourself? Nothing good anyway. She heard a thump and a grunt consistent with Oliver dropping from basement ceiling to the floor.Trust him to be still working out at 4am.

She listened with bated breath for his answer, but when he replied, it was in such low tones of menace that she had to flatten herself against the door to hear. "Look at any woman other than my sister and you're a dead man," Oliver growled. "Disrespect Felicity again, and you will merely wish you were a dead man." 

Felicity crouched by the door, utterly nonplussed at his response but Roy was not so easily phased. "So," he continued, unrepentant. "Do you have a thing for her?" 

"None of your goddamn business," Oliver snarled and after a long silence, Felicity decided that perhaps it was time for her to leave before either of them did it first and bumped into her crouched at the doorway. She'd just have to live without her phone for a little while. She drove home in a daze, with a question throbbing in her mind - why hadn't he just said no? 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm having a lot of fun writing these and I would love to get some prompts so please do leave them in the comments if you have any ideas.


	4. Drop the L-bomb

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Felicity will say just about anything for her fast food fix.

_Felicity:_

"Did you get him?" Digg asked eagerly and Oliver's sigh was a rush of static over the phone's speakers. 

"No. He slipped away." Oliver sounded frustrated. "I was so goddamn close."

"We'll get him, Oliver," said Felicity soothingly. "I'm going to keep working on that signal trace. Something might pop up."

There was a long, tense silence, only punctuated by the crunching of Oliver's footsteps as he mulled this over. "We can pick this up again tomorrow night," he said finally. "You two head home, get some rest." 

Digg and Felicity exchanged knowing glances. "Yeah and I suppose you'll go straight home as well, right?" said Digg. 

"Get a good night's sleep, chill out, eat some ice cream, maybe watch a little TV?" said Felicity. Oliver groaned.

"You're ganging up on me again, aren't you?" He sounded more tired than angry. "Would it make any difference to remind you pair that I pay you?" 

"Not a bit, boss," said Felicity. "We aren't leaving til you do." 

"Pick up some take out on your way back," suggested Digg and Oliver hung up with a snort.

* * *

Half an hour and many, many lines of code later, the door swung open and in strode Oliver, pasty faced under his streaked green make up. Maintaining the Hood persona and carrying out the many responsibilities of the CEO of Queen Consolidated was really taking its toll on him. Despite the fact that he spent every free moment in training, he was beginning to lose weight, especially around his face. Felicity felt a tremor of worry as she watched him pad down the stairs. With his pale skin and hollow cheeks, he was starting to look a little skeletal. 

To her surprise, he dumped an enormous, greasy brown bag on the desk in front of her. "What's this?" she asked. 

"Take out, as requested." Oliver stripped off his gear and slumped into a chair, as Felicity and Digg tussled briefly for possession of the take out bag which ended with her being held at arm's length while he raided the supply of hamburgers, fries and general fast food heaven that Oliver had some how come up with. 

"How did you even manage to get take out in that get up?" she demanded, rifling through what was left for a chicken burger. Oliver knew they were her favourite. 

"I have my ways," he said, leaning over to filch some of her fries, but she was too busy inhaling the magical aroma of her burger to care. She took a massive bite and let out a heart felt moan. "Oh my God, Oliver," she said with her mouth full. "I think I love you." 

He froze with his hand in her bag of fries and she looked over to see his mouth twist and his eyes darken. For a moment, he looked utterly stricken, heart broken, but he recovered swiftly, lounging in his chair with a casual smile that didn't reach his eyes. Digg laughed beside her and Felicity blushed to the roots of her hair as her brain caught up with her mouth. "I mean, I don't actually love you. Well, maybe in a sort of cranky elder brother way. Not that you're cranky. Not all the time anyway. Sometimes you're practically cheerful and that's awesome and you could say I love that. In a very platonic way. Oh God." 

Digg was holding his sides, helpless with laughter but Oliver's smile remained forced and painful. "I gotta train some more," he said quietly, then got up and walked away. Felicity cringed as she watched him brutally assault a practice dummy. Some people can talk their way out of trouble. Felicity's super power was her ability to talk her way into it and judging from the scowl on Oliver's face, she'd done it again. He worked out silently, and she abandoned her burger, her appetite extinguished and did her best to focus on the trace route but in the dim light, his sculpted figure reflected perfectly on her screen. Ix-nay on the oncentration-cay. After Digg called it a night and Oliver had grunted a barely civil goodbye, Felicity steeled herself. She had been hoping to avoid this, but when Oliver got in a Mood, he could out-brood Batman and she really couldn't take a week of him in this foul humour. 

"Oliver," she began as she approached him. "I just wanted to say sorry." 

"Oh yeah?" he panted, giving a the dummy a savage uppercut. "What for?"

"For what I said earlier. I want you to know, I meant nothing by it."

He paused and leaned against the dummy for a moment, his shoulders heaving with exertion. When he finally spoke, his voice was laden with bitterness. 

"I know," he snarled.

She blinked at him, utterly bemused by his reaction. He didn't usually take her babbling so personally. "Is everything okay?" she asked eventually and he shuddered.

"Sure. Fine. Perfect. You should go home. You need your sleep." 

Felicity gave up. Honestly, how was she supposed to deal with his temper tantrums? "Okay," she said flatly. "Fine." She turned on her heel and stalked out, glad she hadn't made any bigger slip ups. She had been right on the edge of telling him the truth, of admitting that she strongly suspected herself to be in love with him and consequences be damned. Now she was glad she'd kept her mouth shut. Oliver would only break her heart if he knew, she reminded herself. He unwittingly trampled all over it at least twice a day as it was. She went home and collapsed into bed, feeling absurdly proud that she had resisted the tears insistently stinging her eyes all the way home. 

* * *

_Oliver:_

Once she was gone, he removed his gloves and took his frustration out on the punching bag until his knuckles were raw. _I meant nothing by it._ The words refused to go away. _Meant nothing, meant nothing, meant nothing._ They jangled persistently in his head until he could hear nothing else, not the meaty thumps of his fists against the bag or the harsh sound of his own laboured breathing. She'd been gone more than an hour when he finally stopped and staggered wearily to the desk. Fuck this, he thought as he slumped in her chair. He was sleeping down here. His gaze landed on the half eaten chicken burger discarded beside the keyboard and for some reason, he felt like he'd been sucker punched. _Oliver, I think I love you._

"I love you too," he said to the empty room.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was supposed to be a cute and fluffy one and yet it some how became an angst fest. I do not know how. I blame Oliver and his brooding.


	5. The Death of the Huntress

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Helena tries to use Felicity as a bargaining chip, which forces Oliver's hand.

Cold, sharp steel bit into the soft skin of her throat and something warm trickled down her neck. Felicity's throat was dry and sore from screaming but she didn't dare swallow to relieve it. The slightest movement would drive Helena's knife into her jugular. The Huntress held her close, one hand tangled in her hair, the other gripping the knife at her throat. Felicity's hands were tied too tightly behind her back and her pained gasps sounded harsh, preternaturally loud in the stillness of the night. Up on the rooftops, the city's usual ambient noise was dulled to a faint hum. Felicity had no idea why Helena had chosen such an exposed position for her grand finale. Perhaps she had some twisted sense of melodrama that made the top of the Queen Consolidated building seem like a perfectly logical place to exchange Felicity for her father. Provided of course that Oliver actually managed to find him and seeing as Felicity hadn't managed it, she seriously doubted Oliver had. Not without doing some fairly illegal shit, although technically, hacking was also illegal. And even if Oliver did manage to extort Frank Burtinelli's location out of someone, Felicity wasn't sure he'd just hand him over for an execution. She really, really hoped he'd come up with something and soon because she was cold and tired and sore all over. 

"He's late," Helena breathed in her ear. "Maybe you aren't very important to him after all. He does seem to prefer brunettes." She chuckled almost smugly and if she hadn't been holding her breath in fear for her life, Felicity would have laughed at the woman's astounding delusion. After all the blood and violence between them, Helena still thought Oliver had feelings for her. She imagined him wiping the self-satisfied smile off Helena's face and felt slightly better. The wind began to pick up and despite the fact that her thin blouse provided exactly no barrier whatsoever to the vicious chill, Felicity resolutely did not shiver, because shivering would mean dying. She held still and prayed that Oliver would hurry the hell up.

She didn't hear him coming but Helena must have because she tensed suddenly and held Felicity tighter. "Come on out and play, Oliver," she jeered. "I've brought a friend for you. Do you have one for me?" 

Oliver stepped out into the light and Felicity felt her stomach twist into vicious knots. He was alone. She was so dead. "My father better be hidden somewhere under that hood," Helena went on. "Or I'm going to make mincemeat out of your little computer girl. Will she be able to type without any fingers, do you think?"

Felicity somehow did not throw up. Her mind filled with a buzzing numbness that she was pretty sure was shock. Across the rooftop, Oliver was speaking in a cold, calm voice she recognised as being far more dangerous than any amount of shouting. "This is your final warning, Helena. Give me Felicity, or I will kill you."

"Not before I kill her," snarled Helena, dragging Felicity's head back by the hair to better expose her throat to the knife, but Oliver had moved before she even finished speaking. One to the small flechettes he carried at his wrist flicked towards them, like a bird on the wing. A very deadly bird, Felicity thought hysterically, as it whirred in her direction. The point thunked solidly into Helena's arm before she could jerk it out of the way. She yelped and the knife slid from her hand. The median nerve, thought Felicity, remembering the Dodger as she kicked the other woman solidly in the shin and jerked her head free. She dropped to her knees and not a second too soon because Oliver was running full tilt towards them. Even as she slid down, he flung himself forwards, tackling Helena cleanly around the stomach. She never stood a chance. Not only was he taller, heavier, faster but he was also absolutely enraged. They grappled briefly but Oliver quickly gained the upper hand, slipping under her guard and delivering a brutal blow to her jaw. She reeled backwards and he had her pinned in seconds. 

"Oliver." Helena's voice sounded faint and hoarse. "Oliver, _please."_

From her position on the ground, all Felicity could make out was the violent jerk of his arms and the matching spasm of Helena's limbs, but she didn't need to see to understand. Oliver had broken Helena's neck. He got up slowly, stiffly, like his muscles hurt and maybe they did but he crossed the space to Felicity's side in two giant strides. He knelt and reached behind her and Felicity heard a snick as he sliced through the plastic ties on her wrists. She groaned in relief as the feeling seeped back into her hands and curled instinctively into his chest. He was still for a second and then his arms swept around her, crushing her to him, and all the while, he gasped for breath as though he were on the point of crying. "Felicity," he said into her hair. "Thank God. Felicity."

She tucked her head into the hollow of his shoulder and with her ear so close to his she could hear Digg shouting over the comm. "Oliver! What happened man? Talk to me!"

"I'm fine," she panted. "Digg, I'm okay." 

"I'm coming up," he said. Felicity just closed her eyes and bunched her fists in the front of Oliver's hoodie. When Digg burst onto the roof, they were still frozen in that tableau, Helena sprawled spread-eagled on the cold concrete, Oliver kneeling and Felicity clutched in his arms. They were both shaking. She could feel every fine tremor that ran through his body and rippled into hers. Big hands descended on her shoulders and she felt Digg try to tug them apart. That seemed like a bad idea and apparently Oliver thought so too because he just clung on tighter and refused let go.

"Oliver, just relax, man." Digg's deep voice was soft and soothing. "She's fine. We just need to check that she's not in shock. So I need you to let go, okay?" He didn't move. "Oliver! Let go!" 

His arms clenched tighter for a minute and Felicity could feel his muscles going rigid, refusing to obey. Then he shuddered and released her. 

Once Digg had finished checking her for injuries and given her his jacket to ward off the cold, Felicity got up and wobbled over to Oliver on unsteady legs. He was standing over Helena's body, head bowed and hands balled into fists at his sides. She rested a hand lightly on his shoulder and he turned to look at her. She opened her mouth and then shut it again. She had no idea what to say. Sorry you had to kill you crazy ex to save me? That sounded a bit flippant and Oliver did not look like a guy in the mood for flippant. She settled stroking his arm in what she hoped was a soothing manner. He just stood there and stared into the distance but he didn't shrug her off and she took that to be a good sign. After a while, he shook himself and looked at her as if he'd only just noticed her.

""We should get you to a hospital," he said.

"No. Absolutely not." 

He glared. She glared back. "I could make you to a hospital," he said softly.

"After the day I've had, are you seriously gonna flip me over your shoulder and bully me?" Felicity asked and he pinched the bridge of his nose. 

"I guess not." Digg joined them and they all just stood in silence for a few minutes, reaffirming that they were all alive and well. "Digg," said Oliver eventually. "Could you take Felicity home, please?"

"What about you?" 

Oliver's face shifted, assuming the grim lines of the Hood. "I have a body to dispose of."

* * *

At 3am, Felicity realised she'd made a mistake. She'd insisted that Digg go home after he'd dropped her off. He hadn't liked that but after thirty minutes straight of full on, turbo mode, Felicity rambling, he agreed that she did seem to be coping pretty well. And she was. She had a shower, ate all the ice cream in the fridge, watched some TV and went to bed. That was when the problems started. The shaking, the tightness in her breath, the dizziness and of course, the fear. She quivered under the blankets and remembered old childhood prayers, long since forgotten. In the end, she gave up. "If you can't beat 'em, join 'em," she said aloud and grabbed her car keys. 

She had plenty of time on the drive over to wonder if Oliver would even still be there and how he was going to react to her just barging in if he was. She kept a death grip on her pepper spray during the short walk from the car to the lair's secret entrance and only relaxed when she was safely inside. The lights were off and she didn't know if she was relieved or disappointed. His chronic crankiness aside, it would have been nice to have the sounds of him working out in the background, reminding her that even if anyone did manage to break in, he was more than capable of dealing with them. She hit the light switch as she went past and nearly fell over a pair of outstretched legs. She caught herself and looked down to find Oliver staring up at her with dead, apathetic eyes. 

He was sitting with his back against the wall and he was making no effort to hide the fact that he'd been crying. It would have been pointless really. The tears had left tracks in his eye make up and drawn blotchy green lines down his cheeks. He looked terrible. He drew his knees up to his chest and wrapped his arms around them, tilting his head forward to hide his face. "I threw her in the river," he said in a muffled voice. Felicity sat hesitantly beside him. "I didn't shoot her," he went on. "So the police will probably think it was a mob hit. They had it in for her anyway." 

They sat in silence for a long moment and Felicity burned with useless energy, an overwhelming need to make him feel better. "I was having panic attacks," she said. Oh great job, Smoak. Very comforting. She fumbled, trying to find the words she needed. Usually her problem was shutting up, not getting things out. "I couldn't sleep, so I came here to . . . to feel safe I guess. You make me feel safe Oliver." He snorted. 

"I'm sure I made her feel safe at one point too," he replied flatly. Felicity turned towards him and shifted onto her knees so she could reach an arm around him. The position felt awkward and to make matters worse, Oliver remained exactly as he was, unwilling or possibly unable to relax against her. It was like hugging a statue but Felicity refused to give up. She stayed like that, her knees getting sore and her arm growing stiff where it laid across his shoulders as the silence stretched on and on and on. 

Oliver broke first. She jumped a little when he spoke because she really had expected him to just wait her out. "When I got back, it was so strange, lying to everyone. I'd spent five years, imagining what I'd say to them all and when I finally came home" - his voice broke a little on the word - "I couldn't tell anyone anything. It was just non-stop lies on top of secrets, and no one got it, not even Digg really." 

He paused and Felicity just stared because in the year that she'd known him, she'd never once heard him reveal anything this personal. She couldn't think of anything to say because she couldn't possibly imagine what it had been like. Fortunately for her, Oliver seemed to be on a roll. 

"But Helena, she knew. She knew the secrets, how much they hurt, the fear that someone will find out, and the hate. You fear everyone and you become suspicious, then paranoid and gradually, your fear turns to anger, to hate. You begin to hate everyone and you just want everything to be normal, you want to spill your secrets to the world but you can't and it just eats you up. It was such a relief to be honest." He lifted his head for the first time and let it tip back against her arm. "You have no idea how much of a relief it was. It was like breathing again after a dive you thought would never end." He began to rock, ever so slightly and Felicity sincerely doubted he even realised he was doing it. "I didn't want it to end. I wanted a confidant, someone I could love without lying to but" - he stopped again, struggling to hold back what sounded like a sob. "I was so desperate to trust her. I made the wrong decision and I've been paying for it ever since. I didn't want to kill her. I just wanted - I just - I wish I hadn't killed her." He was vibrating now, his whole body quaking with distress and Felicity's heart broke just from looking at him. 

She sat up higher, wrapped both arms around his head and pulled insistently until he gave in and leaned against her, his hands falling limply to his sides. He rested his head on the crook of her neck and his shoulders began to heave violently as he tried to hold everything in. She rubbed his back gently, drawing circles between his shoulder blades with her palm and tilted her head to whisper in his ear. "You gave her a choice, Oliver. This is her fault, not yours. This is not your fault. This is not your fault." He slumped against her suddenly and his arms came up to encircle her stomach. Then he began to cry, sobs wracking his body and tearing his throat, as he clutched her desperately, like a drowning man clinging to life raft. Felicity petted his hair and kissed the top of his head unthinkingly, rocking with the motion of his body and murmuring soft words of comfort. "You're okay," she whispered. "Everything's going to be fine. You're okay. You can trust me. I won't hurt you. You can trust me."

His arms tightened around her. Twice in one day, thought Felicity. That has to be some kind of record. "I know," he said hoarsely. He pulled away from her little and sighed. "Shit, I'm sorry. I've ruined your blouse."

Felicity twisted to see a damp, green smear on the white cotton over her shoulder. "It's okay," she said, cupping his cheek gently. "I have others."

He laid his hand over hers and turned his face into her palm. "Thank you," he breathed and suddenly pulled her into a tight hug. She hugged him back and a treacherous little voice in the back of her mind noted that she could really get used to the way his arms felt around her. When they broke apart, he smiled at her. It wasn't a bright and brilliant smile, but it wasn't a fake one either. It was more relieved, sure in the knowledge that the storm had passed. The pain might not be gone but the worst of it was over. 

It was 5am by the time Oliver dropped her home. She was too tired to drive her car but not too tired to notice how good he looked driving it. It was strange to have him in her space like this. Oliver belonged in fancy mansions or the gloomy confines of the Arrow cave, not driving her little VW Bug. He parked it for her and promised to take a cab home. She kissed him goodnight, pressing her lips to his cheek in the shadow of her building's doorway. He closed his eyes and leaned into the touch, his face briefly contorting with what might have been longing. He smiled at her faintly and waited until she was inside before leaving. 

The next day, a courier came to her door with a package containing an extremely expensive looking silk blouse. Felicity didn't ask who had sent it. She didn't need to.


	6. Sing Along

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes, Oliver is too serious. Felicity objects.

"And so I wake in the morning and I step outside - "

"Felicity."

"And I take a deep breath and I get real high - "

"Felicity!"

"And I scream from the top of my lungs, WHAT’S GOING oooOOON!"

"FELICITY!"

She paused to catch her breath and grinned at him.

"I told you, if you didn’t stop moping, you wouldn’t like the consequences," she said and began singing again.

"I don’t mope," said Oliver irritably, raising his voice to make himself heard over the ‘hey yeahs."

"Yeah, you do," said Diggle calmly. Oliver bristled but Digg ignored him. "Mope, sulk, brood -"

"I do not!"

"HEY YEEEEEEEAH, YEAH, YEAH, HEY YEAH - "

"Felicity, I’m warning you."

She stopped. “You also fret, repine, languish, agonise and I could go on.”

Oliver looked from her to Digg, both clearly laughing at him. “This is not funny,” he growled. He’d been going for menacing but even to him, it sounded petulant.

"Oliver, you tripped over your own feet and fell in the damn river," said Digg. "If that doesn’t qualify as funny, I don’t know what does."

"Drakon got away!" he hissed. "Again! I don’t see why you find that so amusing!"

Felicity’s face softened. “This is the thing about what we do, remember? Sometimes we lose.”

Oliver felt the ball of tension deep in his stomach ease a little. “That’s my line,” he reminded her and she shrugged.

"Oliver, sometimes you have to laugh or you’re just going to cry." She smiled at him gently. "Now come over here, eat some popcorn and watch some mindless TV with me and stop being such a gloomy Gus."

He rolled his eyes at her but he still let her drag him over to the computer by the wrist. The TV show she put on was indeed mindless, but he entertained himself by surreptitiously flicking pieces of popcorn into her hair. When she put her hand up to scratch her head and found fifteen pieces tangled in her curls, he let out a proper deep belly laugh at her expression of outrage. For what had to be the first time in weeks, he felt relaxed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wrote this chapter from Oliver's POV which is not what I usually do and I'm not sure it quite fits in with the rest of these oneshots but I thought I might as well put it up anyway.


	7. It's Weird

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Team Arrow have a small birthday celebration for Diggle.

"Man, I am _beat,"_ said Digg, announced as he re-entered the basement, carrying a big bag of take-out. Felicity groaned in agreement. It had been a long night; even Oliver looked tired. They divided up the food and ate in silence, passing each other condiments and stealing each others fries automatically. All this had become a ritual so long ago that they no longer even thought about it. 

"Hey, Digg," said Oliver suddenly. "Check your bag." Digg raised an eyebrow but he was far too used to Oliver's odd behaviour to bother commenting. He bent stiffly, rooted in the gear bag at his feet and then straightened with a surprised whistle. 

"What's this?" he asked, hefting a wooden box about the width of his hand and Oliver actually smiled. 

"Happy birthday, man." 

Felicity sighed. "Digg, you never said anything!" she protested. "Not that I would have known what to get you anyway," she added. "What do soldiers even like? Guns? I could probably get you a really nice gun." She was making less sense than usual, she knew, but she was far too tired to care and by this stage, she knew that the other two didn't give a damn either. 

Digg's jaw dropped in shock as he opened the gift. "Oliver, I can't accept this." Felicity leaned over and frowned. He was holding a bottle of whiskey in a velvet lined case. It looked nice enough but she didn't see what the fuss was about. She had always been more interested in wine than whiskey. 

Oliver grinned at him as he produced glasses. "Sure you can. It's your birthday." Digg continued to shake his head as Oliver took the bottle away, opened it and poured. "Consider it a thank you for all you've done for me," he added, sliding a glass in front of his bodyguard and the big man sighed. 

"Damn. You've twisted my arm." Digg raised the glass and took a sip. "Good lord," he murmured reverently. "That's just beautiful." 

Oliver nodded in agreement, passed Felicity a glass and poured for himself too. He raised his drink, his face uncharacteristically soft. "To good friends," he said formally and Felicity smiled. "To good friends," she echoed and they all drank together. Digg took a generous swallow from his and Felicity took a small sip, knowing it was about to burn her throat. Oliver, however, kicked all of his back with practised ease. Old habits die hard and Oliver had been the most infamous party boy in the city once upon a time. 

They drank and ate together in quiet companionship and after a while Digg began to laugh. "It's just weird," he explained in answer to their quizzical expressions. "Here we are, drinking probably the most expensive whiskey in the world and eating take out from the Big Belly Burger. It's an odd combination." 

"Second most expensive," said Oliver apologetically. "It was the best I could do on short notice." Felicity burst out laughing. 

A comfortable silence fell between them again until Oliver spoke. "It _is_ weird," he said softly, almost as though talking to himself. 

"You've probably eaten weirder things," said Felicity lightly and he gave her an odd look. 

"That's just it. For a good five years, I scavenged for food. I hunted, I dug up bugs, hell, I even ate grass. And now, I just wander into a shop and get it automatically. I can't seem to get used to it." 

Digg and Felicity exchanged surprised glances. It was the most either of them had heard him ever say about his experiences on the island. He had drank twice as much as the two of them put together, Felicity realised. No wonder he was getting talkative. Oliver straightened abruptly and his face assumed that pinched, closed off look it wore when anyone asked about his past and he didn't speak again.

Felicity kept her eyes on her drink. Oliver was so good at reading them and she didn't want him guessing what she was thinking. It had only been a small thing but it was a start and for the first time in a long time, she began to hope that he might eventually open up to them. She felt a warmth inside that had very little to do with the whiskey.


	8. Portraiture

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Felicity gives Oliver a birthday present.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone, sorry it's taken me so long to update. I've been swamped lately but I just finished all my college work for a while, so in celebration, here's a little drabble that's been waiting to be written. Thank you meri47 for the prompt: "I'd love to see Diggle or Felicity being awesome at something nobody would have expected them to know anything about." This probably sort of fills it.

The Queen family unanimously decided against an extravagant birthday party for Oliver. The catastrophic failure of their last gala aside, no one felt it would be really appropriate to be seen celebrating the day after the first anniversary of the Undertaking and of course, there was Tommy. Tommy had been written all over Oliver's face lately, and the closer May 15th drew, the deeper the furrows in his brow and the bags under his eyes grew. It surprised no one that he vetoed every suggestion that was made for birthday festivities, even a small family dinner and those who had considered reminding him that Tommy loved to party, would have hated to see how withdrawn and introverted OIiver had become, took one look at the savage slash of his mouth and rapidly reconsidered.

He also made it perfectly plain that Team Arrow (as Felicity still persisted on calling their little crime fighting club in her head) were not to celebrate his birthday. Not that he actually said anything. He just snarled and smashed one of the glass cases when Felicity unwisely mentioned 'cake' several days beforehand. Usually it irked her when he took his anger out on the rest of them, but this one she was willing to let slide and so were the rest of the team. Roy and Digg exchanged worried glances behind Oliver's back as he snapped and bitched his way through the week, but they didn't protest. They all knew how hard this was going to be for him and how little of it he could show at home, at the office. The club basement was the one place where he could cut loose and that he did.

Felicity had half expected Oliver to just disappear on the 15th. She was surprised when he showed up to work, grey faced in a dark suit. She wondered if that had been deliberate, if he needed to show the world he was still in mourning or if it had been subconscious. Probably the latter. She had trouble concentrating that day. She tried to focus on her work, 'cause boy, they had plenty, but her eyes were inexorably dragged to Oliver's office. He slogged his way valiantly through paperwork and meetings, but he couldn't stop fidgeting and twitching. He refused lunch, which she couldn't blame him for - she didn't feel like eating either - but he managed a grateful expression when she brought him a cup of coffee, the only gesture of solace she could offer. He drank it too, sipping manfully, but he disappeared to the bathroom immediately after finishing it and Felicity half suspected that he had thrown it back up.

He didn't go to the club that night. He vanished after work and didn't call. None of them knew where he was exactly, but they all had their guesses. Felicity thought he might be at the grave or more likely roaming the city on his bike, searching for a fight. Where ever it was, he didn't seem in the mood to discuss it in the morning, when he showed up in yesterday's suit, with shadows like bruises under his eyes. She admired his endurance as much as she thought it was idiotic. No one would have blamed him for taking just one day off, on his birthday, a year and a day after his best friend died in his arms but this was Oliver, and Oliver was sheer, bloody minded persistence personified.

His mood had most definitely not improved though and this worried Felicity. She chewed on her lip and wondered for the millionth time if this really was a good idea, if she wasn't just going to be opening old wounds with the gift stashed in her car. She still wasn't sure when she descended the steps to Verdant's basement, clutching the square package she'd put so much work into. Oliver was there, of course, working out as if his life depended on it. Maybe it did. Certainly, his sanity probably did. He didn't notice her when she came in, a testament to how much pain he must be in, because she was far from stealthy and he was a hard man to surprise.

At the foot of the stairs, Felicity watched him for a moment, watched the savage desperation in his movements and her heart quailed. She really, really wasn't sure if this was a good idea. She had just made up her mind that she would leave the package for him to find and head home so she'd miss the worst of the explosion when he stopped and turned to face her with a quizzical expression.

"I thought I told you to take the night off."

Felicity's voice failed her for a moment and when it did come out, it was in an embarrassing squeak. "I know, but I, uh, I just needed to, um, drop something off." She raised the present, wrapped in fetching green paper and his face contorted into an unrecognisable mask of fury.

"I don't want anything," he spat but Felicity was already advancing, holding her gift out beseechingly.

"I know, I know, Oliver and I'm sorry, but I had to give this to you and I really couldn't think of another time." He glared at her, making no move to take it and she continued. "I knew you'd be mad, but this is different. I made this, I - I had to . . . " Here, her voice gave out again for how could she say that even though she hadn't known Tommy, she had still grieved for him, grieved for Oliver's pain at his loss, because when you loved someone the way she loved Oliver - and she had given up fighting that - you felt their pain like your own and the only outlet she'd had for that raw agony was in the parcel in her hands. "I made it," she repeated inanely. "Please."

Perhaps the pleading had done the trick or maybe he simply wanted to get rid of her. Felicity would never know but she wasn't complaining, because Oliver took the present and ripped off the paper roughly. He looked at the canvas and swayed on his feet, his fist clenched rigidly by his side. Felicity gritted her teeth, preparing herself for the eruption of rage, for him to throw the painting to the floor, to shred it, the way she deserved for trespassing on his grief in this way. He sucked in one shaky breath, then two and he started to shake, because the portrait in his hand was of Tommy, quintessentially, utterly Tommy, from the laughing eyes, to the bright, roguish grin, perfectly captured by the delicate strokes of Felicity's brush.

"You made this?" he rasped and Felicity nodded mutely. Yes, she had made it. After he had given her that promised bottle of wine on his last birthday, she drank the whole thing in the space of an evening, then grabbed a pencil for the first time in years and drawn Tommy. Normally, she was a lousy artist when she was drunk, but perhaps there was something special about that particular wine or maybe pain that strong burst an artistic dam that she hadn't known existed. Either way, she had somehow managed to capture the essence of him in that simple sketch and the next morning, peering at it through an epic hangover, she had realised that she would have to paint it. It had never been intended for Oliver at first, she had simply been consumed by the knowledge that she must paint it and it would have to be perfect. Acrylics hadn't done it justice. She threw that one in the bin in disgust and moved on to oils. She hated oils, had always been terrible at using them, but nothing else would live up to perfection of that first little drawing. So she had painted and painted, given up in disgust, thrown her first try away and begun again, each time failing, each time discarding and each time starting over. It was only when she was halfway through her sixth attempt that it had dawned her that she couldn't keep this. She would have to give it Oliver.

And now, he was standing there, staring at her painting, the best work she'd ever produced in her life, like it had bitten him and she felt like a fool. It must seem like I'm trying to hurt him, she thought dully and when he raised his hooded eyes to look at her, she braced herself for the worst. It didn't come. Instead, he reached out, grabbed her by the shoulder and hauled her in close. His arms clenched around her like a vice and for one wild moment, she thought he had decided to squeeze her to death. But he wasn't. He was hugging her.

Oliver was hugging her and not in a reassuring half-embrace as he had occasionally done when she ran into his arms in relief, but in a crushing, desperate grip with the painting digging into her back where he still held it in his hand and her face buried in his sweaty shoulder. He held on and on, even after she had dazedly raised her own arms to gently encircle his torso and rubbed his back soothingly. She never wanted it to end and when he eventually did pull away, she felt cold without his warmth, bereft without his arms around her.

"So, you like it then?" she said.

"Like it? It's perfect!" Oliver held the painting at arms length to admire it and then smiled faintly. "Well, almost perfect."

Felicity groaned inwardly. She had known, she had absolutely known this would happen, Tommy had been Oliver's best friend, he would notice, of course he would notice - "It's his nose, isn't it?" she said unhappily. "I tried, I did it over and over, but every correction I made just made it worse and then I was correcting my corrections and then the corrections of the corrections - "

Oliver silenced her with a hand on her shoulder. "It's not that," he said. "It's all Tommy, of course it is. It's him exactly. I was just going to say that you haven't signed it."

Felicity's jaw dropped. It had never occurred to her to sign it, she had never dreamed that even if he liked it, Oliver would want her name on it. This was supposed to be about him and Tommy. She wasn't supposed to feature in it but he was smiling at her, smiling for the first time in a month at least and how could she deny the soft light in those blue eyes? She fumbled in her purse for a marker and scribbled a little 'FS' in the corner.

"There," said Oliver. "Perfect."

"I thought," said Felicity, feeling a little braver. "That you could hang it in your office maybe, so you could see him all the time."

Oliver shook his head. "No," he said gravely. "The office is not where I need him."

If Roy and Digg had questions about the painting that suddenly appeared on the wall of the lair, then they didn't raise them. Tommy Merlyn smiled benevolently down at them as they trained, argued, laughed and fought crime and Oliver's face lost some of the awful strain and that was enough for them. If, from time to time, they saw him glance up at it and then at Felicity with a faint, soft smile lighting his eyes, then they kept that to themselves too.


	9. One Step to the Right

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Felicity saves Oliver's life and nearly gets herself killed in the process. Oliver is unimpressed.

She caught up with him outside the club as he was getting into the car. “Oliver, hang a sec,” she called after him. “I forgot to tell you – “ 

She would never remember what she had forgotten. Suddenly, it ceased to matter. Diggle was in the car, waiting patiently as ever and Oliver was standing, half in, half out, looking at her expectantly, a red dot dancing on his chest. It bobbed there, glowing like a demon’s eye and Felicity knew the sniper’s mark with immediate certainty. She took a step to the right without hesitation or reflection, simply because she knew she must. Oliver was in danger. She stepped. Oliver was not in danger. Mission accomplished. Then the pain tore a furrow through her shoulder and she screamed.

Vague swathes of colour loomed before her eyes. The shapes in front of her wavered and her vision, then her hearing failed as the pain overpowered every other sensation. Little snatches of sound and sight returned to her intermittently. A voice that might have been Oliver’s, shouting syllables that seemed familiar, a woozy impression of movement, of arms lifting her. There was a brief taste of bitterness in her mouth. Had she imagined it? Had the pain made her throw up? Last of all, a feeling of speed, of rushing momentum that might have been death.

* * *  
All in all, waking up was a surprise. Felicity gradually became aware again and for a long moment, she was confused. She was in a bed, but it was not her bed, she could tell because it was not as comfortable and it smelled strange. Further incongruities dawned as she stirred. She was not properly dressed. She was wearing something that gaped open at the back, allowing the sheets to rub her skin. Something was sticking in her arm, an odd stiffness at the crook of her elbow. At first, she had thought all was quiet but now she realised that there was a distant hum of activity, like a far away bee hive. 

“Felicity?” 

Her eyes fluttered open at the sound of her name and she winced as a spear of light went straight through her head. 

“Sorry, I’ll get the blinds.” The room suddenly became dimmer and she blinked blearily as she took in her surroundings. The sparse, clean fixtures, the IV beside her and the gently beeping machines all screamed hospital. In a chair beside her bed, looking rumpled, dishevelled and exhausted, was Oliver. 

“Hey,” she said and her voice was hoarse with disuse. She was struck by a sudden similarity. “Guess I didn’t die,” she added. “Cool.”

He gave her a forced attempt at a smile and she realised that he was too worried and worn out to be amused. He was wearing the same suit that he’d been wearing when she was shot. He had discarded his jacket but the shirt was stiff with dried blood. Her blood. He had clearly made some effort to wash it off but it was still caked under his nails and in the stubble on his face. 

“How do you feel?” he asked. 

“Floaty. I think I might be flying,” she said dreamily and this time he did smile. 

“That would be the drugs,” he said gently. “You’ve had surgery. You’ve been given a lot of morphine.”

“It makes everything sparkly,” she said, beginning to slur a little. “Your face is sparkling. I think it’s because it’s pretty. Soooo pretty.” 

He snorted. “That’s definitely the drugs. Go to sleep, Felicity. Everything is going to be fine.”

Her eyes drifted closed again and she fought with them briefly but they refused to open. “Will you stay?” she asked faintly. 

“Yes,” he said and the word was the last thing she remembered hearing before she fell asleep again.

* * *

"Hey, still with us?" 

Felicity resurfaced from a sticky well of sleep. "Digg?" she whispered hoarsely. 

"I'm here." 

She managed to open her eyes and peered at him as he loomed beside her bed. "Where's Oliver?" she asked and a shadow passed over the big man's face. 

"Sleeping." He pulled up a chair and sat beside her. "He's gonna be pissed he wasn't here for the great awakening but he was starting to get a little twitchy. Turns out even he can't manage more than three days without sleep."

She groaned in disbelief. "Three days? Was I out that long? Digg, what happened?"

He turned away from her but she could still see his hands, trembling violently. "It was _him._ He shot you and he - " Digg broke off, his voice strangled by rage. "He got away again." Felicity didn't ask who he was.

"Deadshot," she said and he flinched at the name. "Digg, how am I alive?" 

He told her and she let out a low, incredulous whistle. 

* * *

An hour of strenuous protesting later (and no one could kick up a fuss like Felicity could kick up a fuss), she had successfully obtained her tablet, mostly by heavily emotionally blackmailing Digg. She'd feel guilty but she had just been shot. She'd earned the right to milk it a little. Plus, some things had to be seen to be believed. The hospital's security system was laughable. Even woozy, tired and more than a little high, she was watching the security footage less than twenty minutes after switching her tablet on but she wasn't quite sure if she really believed what she was seeing. Diggle hadn't been kidding, Oliver did look a little crazy. She watched in a kind of awed horror as he charged in the front door of the hospital, carrying her in his arms and screaming. She wasn't much good at lip reading but it was painfully clear what he was saying. "Help me! Please help me!" 

The EMTS ran to them, transferring her to a gurney and pushing Oliver out of the way. He staggered backwards, swaying, covered in blood, then collapsed in a chair. She tracked his progress through the hospital on fast forward. Digg hadn't lied. After the frantic drive to the hospital and the magical island herbs - that explained the bitter taste and the whole 'not dead of curare poisoning' thing - Oliver had stayed by her side for close to three days, keeping a broody vigil first outside the operating theatre and then in her room. At one stage, his sister showed up and they had what appeared to be an argument, probably about Oliver's refusal to go and get some sleep, or at the very least shower and change. After they moved her out of intensive care, there was no more handy camera in her room for her to creep on, but from what she could tell Oliver hardly left the room. Digg came in and out a lot, bringing food. There was no way of telling if he managed to make Oliver eat anything.

By looking at the time stamps, Felicity calculated that he had only left a few hours ago, shambling stiffly out of her room and even on the poor camera, his face looked like it had aged ten years. She was rewatching him fussing over her and bothering the nurses in the IC unit when there was a soft rap on the door. She looked up to see Oliver, looking cleaner and healthier if not happier, leaning against the door frame.

"So," he said, sitting down in the chair by her bed. "How are you feeling?"

Felicity hastily closed the tab with the CCTV footage. "Not bad," she told him and it was the truth, perhaps even a little less than the truth, she was actually feeling quite good. A sneaky tendril of happiness was winding its way around her heart. Look at how upset he was, it whispered. Look at the way he stayed beside you. He must care for you, he _must._

"You seem a little more lucid anyway," he said drily and she flushed at the memory of her first awakening. Had she really told him his face was pretty? He was looking away from her, his lips tight. Uh-oh. That was his angry face. 

"Is everything okay, Oliver?"

His jaw worked and he took a couple of deep breaths like he trying hold something in. "Spit it out," she said and he shot to his feet, jammed his hands in his pockets and began to pace. He came to a halt in front of the window and spoke as if he was addressing the street outside. 

"What the hell were you thinking?" It took her a second to realise he was actually talking to her. 

"Wh - what?" she stammered, stunned by the venom in his voice. She hadn't expected a declaration of undying love, but a thank you would be nice at the very least. 

"You heard me! What the hell were you thinking, you could've died! You very nearly did die!" 

Felicity's mouth fell open. Was he seriously mad at her for saving his life? He was glaring at her like she'd personally insulted him. More than insulted. Betrayed. "I saw the laser," she said. "And I knew what it was. You didn't see it and Digg didn't see it." She struggled for words, unsure as to how she could possibly explain the certainty, the calm resolve she had felt, as if her sole purpose in life had suddenly become to save Oliver. "You were in danger," she went on lamely. "And I couldn't - I couldn't let you die." Or live without you. The words hovered on her lips but remained unsaid. 

He glared at her for a moment more, before his shoulders slumped and the anger seeped away. "How do you think I felt?" he muttered. "One minute you were standing in front of me and the next you were falling and there was blood everywhere. I thought you were dead. I thought - " He broke off, shuddering. "You need to promise me that you'll never do that again, okay? You have to promise."

Felicity thought about it, forced herself to envision the red dot on his chest. Would it be enough to just warn him? Would she able to leave it to a race, his reflexes against the bullet? "I don't think I can," she said and Oliver sat down with a groan. He dropped his head into his hands and stayed like that, looking utterly beaten for a long moment.

"Felicity," he sighed. "What am I going to do with you?" 

"You could smuggle me in some Big Belly Burger," she suggested. "The food here sucks." He laughed and shook his head, in frustration but there was definitely, definitely some affection there, she was sure of it. He stood again, still stiff, probably from sleeping (or at least sitting) in that uncomfortable chair for three days. 

"I have to go into work for a while," he said ruefully. "Isabel is baying for my blood." Felicity snorted. Of course she was. Bitch. 

"Thank you," she blurted, before he could leave and he looked at her in surprise. "Digg told me what you did for me," she added, not wanting to admit that she had watched it all. " Not just the life saving but the waiting here with me and stuff. You didn't have to do that, but it was nice, so, um, yeah, thank you." 

Oliver stepped closer to the bed and bent towards to her. "Come on," he said. "I think we both know who should be doing the thanking here and it's not you. I should be apologising as well, I guess. I had no right to yell at you but - God, Felicity, I was so scared." He was so close now that she could count his eyelashes. What the hell was he doing? "I thought I'd lost you," he breathed and then he closed the distance between them and his lips were on hers. She froze entirely, suddenly convinced that she was still asleep, that this was just a morphine induced hallucination, but were hallucinations supposed to smell of soap and have soft, warm lips? She was definitely sure that they were not supposed to cup your cheek as though you were made of glass, brush calloused finger tips over your jaw and flood your stomach with tingles like electric shocks. 

It was only when he pulled away that she became aware of the erratic beeping noise and she cringed inwardly. The monitor had recorded the wild thudding of her heart and Oliver had noticed, she knew he had 'cause he was he smiling at her in amusement. 

"Was that the thank you or the apology?" she asked in an attempt to cover her embarrassment and he grinned. 

"A bit of both," he told her. "I'll be back later with food," he promised and she almost blurted out right then and there that she loved him. She held it in by some miracle and managed to smile and mumble a half-coherent goodbye as he left. Then she just flopped back against her pillows, her fingers pressed to her lips. Had Oliver really just kissed her? 

"I think I'll step in front of a bullet every day," she muttered to herself and settled down to replay the feeling of his mouth on hers over and over again in her head. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wait, what? They weren't supposed to kiss in this! I really don't know how it happened, 'cause I hadn't planned this drabble this way but I guess just really want these two morons to kiss. Hope you liked and please comment if you did! I'd love some more prompts, if anyone has any.


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